


Of Monsters and Men

by thecomedownchampion, Weak



Series: My Head is an Animal [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Season 3A
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 06:57:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecomedownchampion/pseuds/thecomedownchampion, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weak/pseuds/Weak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek was a knotted ball of grief, anger, and panic. Stiles was condensed energy, all extremes. Carl Jung once said that the meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed. Derek and Stiles made each other volatile. Because Derek had no patience and Stiles had no filter.    </p><p>Derek loves that Stiles has no filter. Stiles is the most honest liar Derek has ever met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Monsters and Men

“Derek, come on!”

Derek is eleven years old, and in front of him his sister Laura leads him deeper into the woods. Dark hair falls down her back and bounces with each step. She’s fourteen and so strong, so fearless. The hot, Californian air is slightly humid with the recent rain, coating the forest in the heavy scent of wet vegetation and growing things. Derek can smell mildews and fungi sprouting along the roots of trees. He doesn’t know where Laura is taking him, but he follows her blindly, trusting her unwavering guidance. Their bare feet leave impressions in the damp earth.

 

 

Derek dreams of his childhood often, after the fire. Waking up on those nights is torture. It feels like a punishment, serving as a reminder of all the things he’s lost and all the lives he’s stolen. Sometimes his face is already wet upon waking. Laura did her best to ignore it, knowing from past experience that attempting to comfort Derek would only make him feel worse.

When Derek finds his baby sister Cora alive in the vault, his heart lurches. His world tips on its axis and falls out of its previous orbit and into a new one, one that includes Cora in his universe as a central figure. The loss of Erica weighs heavy in his heart, more blood on his hands, but the reappearance of this piece of his past he thought was lost causes him to feel, against his will, the tiniest spark of hope. After Derek brings Cora’s and Boyd’s unconscious bodies back to his loft from the high school boiler room, he collapses in his bed and sleeps and dreams. He dreams of holding his infant sister, his parents’ smiles as they watched him with his new sister, and Laura’s protective love for her.

He learns that like Laura, Cora leaves his grief unacknowledged.  But it’s okay, because that’s something Derek and Cora have in common.

 

 

Derek was ten years old when Cora was born. He remembers his mother handing the small bundle to him when she got home from the hospital and looking down at the tiny, vaguely human-shaped figure in his arms. The baby smelled like blood and disinfectant beneath the scent of baby powder. He touched his sister’s cheek, felt impossibly soft skin beneath his fingertips, and Cora’s brown eyes looked at his face without quite focusing—it would take a few weeks for her brain to develop enough for her to recognize faces.

When he got over the initial daze, Derek became fascinated by the baby. He followed his mother around when she carried her, watched his father rock her to sleep in his arms. There was a distinct smell carried by new life and Derek found himself inexplicably drawn to it.

“I was the same way when you were born,” Laura would tell Derek years later as they huddled together in a motel bed that stank of stale semen and dust mites. “But of course, Mom would only trust me with holding you when I was sitting down.” And Derek tried not to cry because he was a grown man and he and Laura were too damn old for this and too young, so he stayed silent and pressed his nose into her collarbone, inhaling the fading scent of the laundry detergent his parents always bought and the acrid stench of smoke still recognizable among the rest.

 

 

Kate Argent was confident, abrasive, lewd, and used her sexuality like a well-honed skill. And she was very skilled; the sex had been fantastic.

She was nothing like Jennifer Blake.

Derek met her at Berkeley when he was twenty; she bumped into him as he turned a corner and spilled coffee down his front. Derek promised her a new coffee. Kate promised him a new shirt. Derek was working toward a major in comparative literature. Kate graduated from college nine years ago.

Being with Kate was everything being with Paige wasn’t. Paige was stolen kisses behind the bleachers and tentative touches. Kate was covert blowjobs behind secluded bookcases and hushed, adrenaline-fueled laughter from the thrill of the possibility of being caught. Paige was innocent new love and promises of forever. Kate was passion and promises of ‘ _this weekend_ ’. They were both from Beacon Hills, so when Derek visited home he always stopped by Kate’s, told his family he was meeting with old high school friends. Laura was working toward her Master’s degree at UCLA and Cora was in middle school by now.

Derek and Laura were home after final exams when the fire happened. They had just gone out to pick up a movie from the video store for the family to watch together when Laura suddenly looked at Derek and said his name. Their eyes had met, both of them filled with fear, and they left the store without renting a movie. Laura must have broken twenty driving laws on the way back to their family home and Derek gripped the handle of the passenger door tightly.

When they saw the fire, Derek dialed 911 as he ran toward the house with Laura in hopes of finding his family. Mountain ash circled Derek’s family home and the humans never made it out. He and Laura watched numbly as the fire department, several police cruisers, and ambulances arrived on the scene. The stench of burning wood, chemicals, and flesh was overwhelming. Kate’s perfume danced on the wind.

Peter didn’t survive—not really. They waited for two weeks to tie up the last of their family affairs and give Peter time to heal and wake from his coma. He didn’t. They thought that was probably a good thing, for his sake if nothing else. Derek and Laura left Beacon Hills with no intentions to ever return.

 

 

Cora plays indie rock in the vehicle while Derek drives and doesn’t tell him where she’s been or how she survived.

‘ _I heard them calling in the distance, so I packed my things and ran far away from all the trouble I had caused with my two hands…_ ’

Her seat has been pushed back as far as it will go and reclined back. Her feet rest on the dashboard. Derek lets her. He isn’t her Alpha anyway.  Instead they talk about simpler things when they talk at all. Reminiscing.

They’re in Seattle when Derek receives the first text from Stiles. It’s a quote from _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland_. Derek quotes Sam Loyd in return. Stiles must be satisfied with the response because he doesn’t text Derek again.

 

 

Stiles Stilinski was like an itch between Derek’s shoulder blades, a piece of popcorn lodged between his molars, a lash caught in his eye, the single out-of-tune string of a guitar in an ensemble, the single red sprinkle in a jar of blue ones. He was in your face and impossible to ignore with his wild limbs and a surgical scalpel for a tongue. He was obnoxious and so vibrantly _alive_ and there was no filter that could tone it down. Stiles had no filter, period.

Derek hated it at first. Stiles grated on his frayed nerves, wearing down the patience Derek lost along with Laura. Derek had to worry about Peter and the new werewolf his uncle had bitten; he didn’t have time for a kid with a loud mouth and a knack for being more trouble than he was worth. But the kid was smart, way smarter than anyone gave him credit for and he had the resourcefulness of a politician.

Stiles was one of those covert misanthropes who distantly hated everyone by default until he got to know them and form individual opinions. Every aspect of Stiles existed in quantized values, like the all-or-none law of a firing neuron or the energy state of an electron in an atom. He never half-assed anything; he either did it or he didn’t. Stiles cared about a handful of people that he loved _fiercely_ , beyond the boundaries of what anyone would call reasonable limits. Anyone outside of that elite circle, he didn’t care about at all. And those precious few that Stiles did care about, he would protect with his life. When Stiles felt, he felt with every fibre of his being, and when he made a choice, he stuck by it until the end. He was loyal, reliable to a fault and stupidly brave, and so unabashedly _himself_ that Derek could barely stand to look at him.

Derek was a knotted ball of grief, anger, and panic. Stiles was condensed energy, all extremes. Carl Jung once said that the meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed. Derek and Stiles made each other volatile. Because Derek had no patience and Stiles had no filter.    

Derek loves that Stiles has no filter. Stiles is the most honest liar Derek has ever met.

And somehow, through some anomaly, Derek has found himself among the people Stiles cares about. It goes unacknowledged, and without Derek’s permission he finds that the feeling is quite mutual. Derek catches himself placing Stiles’ life above his own, up with Scott’s and Isaac’s and Erica’s and Boyd’s. Derek begins to listen to Stiles and really hear what he has to say. Begins to look at Stiles and really see him.

Stiles has the most beautiful mouth Derek has ever seen.  

 

 

Laura always wanted to go to New York. She wanted to see a show on Broadway and walk in Central Park and eat pizza. Derek’s parents hated the city, kept putting it off. It’s the first place Derek and Laura went after they lost everything. They saw Broadway’s production of _Monty Python’s Spamalot_ , ate gelato in the Central Park Conservatory Garden, and bought pizza from street vendors.

It wasn’t the same.

But somehow, Laura still managed to fall in love with the city, with its skyscraper fortresses and anonymity. Laura would say, “Derek, come on!” and lead him through the city streets instead of trees, and they couldn’t go barefoot because they would step on glass and leave bloodied footprints until the wounds healed. They bought an apartment and Laura looked for a job because she had to do _something_. Derek didn’t want to do anything. He figured he’d already done enough.

Derek tried to have sex once, after Kate. They met at a restaurant; she was his waitress.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” she told Derek, and he touched her, kissed her, pressed fingers inside of her; but when she rolled the condom onto him and began to tug him closer, Derek suddenly smelled Kate’s perfume and burning flesh. He choked and pulled away, suddenly needed to be as far away from here as possible.

“I’m sorry,” Derek said. “I have to go.” He stripped off the condom and tugged his clothes back on, couldn’t stand the bare skin. He ran from the woman’s apartment before she could say anything, and then he kept running until he was deep in Central Park’s wildlife sanctuary. He crowded his back against an outcropping of Hartland schist and tried to draw air into his lungs. It wouldn’t come. And Derek thought about it, suffocating in the middle of the woods, and the thought wasn’t so bad. But then he thought of Laura, of leaving her all alone as the Alpha of no pack, and he wept breathlessly, body shaking out of control. 

It wasn’t the first time Derek had a panic attack and it wouldn’t be the last.

 

 

Derek brings Cora to New York. He wants to share Laura with her but he doesn’t want to talk about it, so instead he shows her. He brings Cora to see _Man and Boy_ at the American Airlines Theatre, buys gelato for her at the Central Park Conservative Garden, and goes out for pizza with her. He shows her the wildlife sanctuary and Central Park Zoo because he needs so desperately for her to understand and he just _can’t_ talk about it, but it’s good because Cora doesn’t want to talk about it either, doesn’t want to hear about what she’s lost.

The lease on the apartment Derek had with Laura is almost up. He brings Cora there, inhales the lingering scent of Laura, and stands still next to the door as he lets Cora look around. He watches his younger sister poke through the books on the shelves, lets her look through his old bedroom. She hovers in front of the door to Laura’s room, waiting for Derek. Derek goes over to stand next to her and he stares at the brass doorknob like it could tell him the universe’s secrets. After a long pause, Derek puts his hand on the cold metal and turns it, letting the door fall open.

Laura’s room isn’t extravagant, but it looks lived-in. She has a white comforter with a black floral pattern, a pile of laundry on her dresser and a number of personal belongings cluttered there. An alarm clock that still hasn’t had the hours adjusted for daylight savings sits on her nightstand. The blue-painted walls are dotted with posters of movies and musicians Laura loved. Derek inhales deeply and his olfactory senses are flooded with Laura’s scent, sweet like summer grass in the morning, wet with dew. It hits Derek like a knife through the chest and he finds himself whimpering. He kneels in front of the bed and brings Laura’s pillow to his face where the smell is the strongest, and then his shoulders shake as tears spring free from his eyes. Broken sobs collapse from his throat as he finally, _finally_ , lets the reality of Laura’s loss hit him.

Cora stands behind Derek silently, keeping vigil. She’s in her own world right now. Derek wishes that she would touch him, let him know that she’s real and he’s not alone. Wishes she would put her hand on his shoulder like Stiles did when Boyd died (when he _murdered_ Boyd). She doesn’t.

 

 

When Derek became the Alpha, he craved pack. Wolves aren’t meant to be alone. Peter was dead and Scott was stubborn; he still wanted to pretend he was human. Isaac, Erica, and Boyd seemed like the perfect candidates for a new pack. They were young enough that their bodies would adapt more easily to the change and they were lonely—exactly the type of people who would want a new family, a pack.

But Erica and Boyd didn’t want Derek, and when the Alpha pack wanted Derek to kill his packmates, there was no way he could let Isaac stay with him. He couldn’t relive that night when he carried Erica’s body from the vault. That night when the twins held up his wrists and Kali dropped Boyd onto his waiting claws like a sacrificial offering.

Derek is better off as a Beta.

 

 

Stiles texts Derek about buying a lease on a new apartment in Beacon Hills. Derek alludes to the idea that he has no intentions of returning. Stiles doesn’t buy it. Neither does Derek. He fucking hates Beacon Hills, but Stiles, Scott, and Isaac are there. Whether he likes it or not—and he doesn’t—it’s home.

 

 

Over the next week, Cora helps Derek go through all of his and Laura’s belongings in the apartment, sorting through what they want to keep and what to discard. Derek plays his favourite Radiohead album over the stereo as they work, Thom Yorke’s vocals singing, ‘ _My baby’s got the bends, oh no!_ ’ Derek remembers buying this album the year Cora was born.  

There are no more emotional outbursts, even as they sort out Laura’s old possessions. Derek has already had his moment of weakness and Cora did her grieving for her family years ago. Cora decides to keep some of Laura’s old things for herself, and Derek hasn’t the heart to stop her; in a way, he’s also kind of thankful. Cora isn’t a replacement for Laura, but Derek doesn’t want to forget his older sister. He wants reminders of her instead of regrets. They pack what they want to keep and give the rest to charity. Derek calls the landlord to tell her not to renew the lease.

When they leave Manhattan, Derek starts driving toward California without thinking about it. When he looks at Cora questioningly, she shrugs and says, “It’s fine.” And then she gives him a small smile. They take turns picking the music.

‘ _But as the world comes to an end, I’ll be here to hold your hand. ‘Cause you’re my king and I’m your lionheart…_ ’

 

 

Jennifer Blake was cautious, but eager. She knew that Derek was dangerous, and yet she was fascinated by him. Derek knew he never would have trusted her so quickly, so easily, on his own. And yet after learning of her true identity as Julia Baccari, Derek didn’t think that her feelings for him were entirely fabricated. After all, it was because of Derek that the Nemeton had the power to heal her when she was mutilated by Kali.

Jennifer was vengeance. She sought security in others, in Derek, and she was willing to go to any lengths to achieve her goals. She reminded Derek a little of Peter in that way.

She was nothing like Stiles Stilinski.

 

 

Scott McCall has grown up. He looks exhausted, but he has grown into the position of an Alpha like a puppy grows into its too-large paws. He’s strong and objective like Derek never could have been. He leads with grace and fairness. Derek admires him and finds that he no longer envies him. After Scott finishes filling Derek in on what he’s missed, he leaves Derek alone with Stiles who is still wearing a long red cloak.

“I missed you,” Stiles says suddenly, and then he surprises Derek by pulling him into a hug. Stiles is like the quantum theory of light; he has a dual nature, simultaneously grounding Derek and cutting him afloat. The feeling of Stiles’ chest against his reminds him of when he felt it against his back as Stiles held him above water in the pool at the high school while Jackson stalked around the edges as the kanima. Derek also thinks of the warmth of Stiles’ hand against his cold, damp shoulder as Boyd bled out in front of him.

Over the next few weeks, Derek sees a lot of Stiles, who starts tutoring Cora when she starts high school. Stiles insinuates himself in their lives like a missing puzzle piece; somehow, he just fits. If someone had told Derek all those months ago when he first returned to Beacon Hills that the obnoxious best friend of the new Beta that had been bitten would become an intrinsic part of his everyday life, Derek never would have believed it for a second. He’s not sure how he feels about the development. Surprisingly, he also hears from Scott a fair bit. From time to time, the young Alpha will call Derek in search of advice. Derek can’t offer much in the way of advice when it comes to leadership, but he can at least educate Scott about the experience of being an Alpha and what that means as a werewolf.

Neither Derek nor Cora are pleased about it when Scott insists that Stiles joins them on the full moon. Cora has a handle of herself now—of course she does, she’s a born wolf—but when the moon is high and their instincts are raw and at their sharpest, Stiles is prey.

Stiles ends up convincing them to play tag. It sends a thrill through Derek as he chases the boy. He remembers full moons as a child and chasing after Laura under the moonlight. The mountain ash circle comes as a surprise, but he does as Stiles says and chases after Cora while the human catches his breath. Cora weaves around trees and Derek speeds up, taking a swipe at her with one hand. She laughs as she dodges, and Derek’s heart thuds with both joy and pain at the sound; joy at hearing that sound after so long, and pain because she should have been laughing like this all along _._ He turns and goes back to Stiles’ mountain ash circle, hiding behind a tree in wait as he watches Stiles, silent and alert. The moment Stiles passes the line of ash, Derek lunges. He catches Stiles by the torso and they tumble to the earth. Derek rolls to one knee and grins.

“You’re it,” he breathes, and Stiles is about to protest when the scent hits Derek. The scent of _Alpha_ and _enemies_ and _Boyd dying._ He snarls—he must protect his pack—but Stiles catches him by the shirt and tells him that Scott invited the twins to make sure they didn’t cause any trouble. Derek hates it. So does Stiles. They find Cora and Derek restrains her while Stiles tells her the same thing he told Derek. For a while they simply sit on the forest floor as Stiles tells them about school to distract them. When Derek has finally regained control of his instincts, the game of tag resumes.

The rest of the werewolves retire to their homes around five in the morning as the sun rises. When Stiles realizes that Derek and Cora aren’t planning on leaving right away, he elects to stay with them, but Derek finally convinces him to go get some sleep when he tells Stiles that he wants to have some time on his own with his sister. After they lead Stiles back to the burned ruins of their family home, they go deep into the woods, running at full speed. It’s exhilarating.

Then they smell the body.

 

 

Stiles is convinced that whatever has been killing these people is not human. The teeth that made the bites are human, the DNA of the saliva on the bodies is human, the way the bodies have been arranged shows a human level of intelligence, Derek can’t smell anything that isn’t human, but Stiles still says it can’t be human. Derek wonders what Stiles would say if he told him that most of the monsters of lore were made up because people couldn’t stand the idea of humans being capable of such atrocities. What Stiles would think if Derek told him that more often than not, the real monster is humanity.

 

 

Derek is in the middle of serving up mac and cheese for lunch when Cora looks up from her English homework to meet Derek’s eyes across the room.

“Someone’s coming,” she says.

Derek focuses and now he can hear the footsteps coming down the hallway too. From the quality of the treads, it isn’t Stiles or anyone else they know. Derek immediately goes on the alert. Stiles warned him last night via text that the FBI were asking about him when he went to the crime scene with Lydia. They had already questioned him and Cora once. Derek curses under his breath and tries to eat his mac and cheese as fast as possible.

“Don’t choke!” Cora scolds.

“I don’t want to be arrested when I’m hungry,” Derek replies around a mouthful.

Cora rolls her eyes and Derek is just spooning the last bite into his mouth when there’s a brisk knock on the door. Cora goes to answer it and he hears an unfamiliar male voice say, “Hello, are you Cora Hale?”

“Yes,” Cora says briskly. Her tone is cold and mistrusting.

“My name is Agent McCall. Is your brother home?”

Derek perks up when he hears the name. He knew that Scott’s father was AWOL, but he’d never heard anything about him being an FBI agent. Was the last name a coincidence? In Beacon Hills, likely not. Derek puts his dishes in the sink and walks over to the door.

“Can I help you, Agent?” asks Derek.

McCall holds up his badge and says, “Yes, as a matter of fact. You’re under arrest as a suspect of multiple murders.” McCall rattles off Derek’s rights and Cora looks like she wants to slam the door in his face. Or just tear the door off of its hinges and beat him with it. Derek meets her eyes and shakes his head imperceptibly. She looks like she wants to argue, but she stays silent, glowering as Derek puts on his shoes and jacket and turns around obediently while the FBI agent handcuffs him. And then Derek is led away.

 

 

Agent McCall is nothing like his son. Scott is brave, kind, and idealistic. Agent McCall is a condescending prick. He accuses Derek of murdering Paige (and that hurts more than it should after all these years), Laura (this just pisses him off. He’s already been down this road thanks to McCall’s son and his idiot best friend), Kate Argent and all of Peter’s other victims, Matt’s victims, the Darach’s victims, and the Wendigo’s victims. He follows Stiles’ advice after calling him, requests an attorney. The attorney mostly observes the proceedings and tells McCall when he’s stepping over the line (much to Derek’s satisfaction) and offers Derek legal advice in his situation. 

“Where were you on the night of February tenth?” asks McCall.

“I was still in Manhattan,” Derek answers. “My sister came back to Beacon Hills alone. When I couldn’t get through to her, I got worried and came after her.”

“Are there any friends in New York who can confirm this?”

“There were acquaintances, but Laura and I kept to ourselves,” Derek says slowly.

McCall smirks. “I see. That’s too bad.”

 

 

After those first few terrible full moons in New York after the fire, Laura thought of something new for them to do. Instead of breaking into the wildlife sanctuary at Central Park, they decided to roam the city in the spirit of the rising popularity of parkour. They jumped from building to building, vaulted over fire escapes and swung from clotheslines. Even if they hated their circumstances, they came to love the city. Every so often, they met other packs and Laura made negotiations with them. The other packs sympathized—any good Alpha would shudder at the idea of losing their pack. Sometimes they ran with Laura and Derek, racing them along the rooftops. At the end of the night, Derek and Laura would sit on the roof of their apartment with a bag of greasy takeout food bought from bleary-eyed teens working the early morning shift and watch the sun rise over Manhattan.

God, Derek misses her.

 

 

When the Wendigo has been taken care of and Derek is led from his cell, his heart swells with pride when he sees Stiles standing in front of McCall with his arms crossed, back straight, and a smug grin. He keeps his face impassive, not wanting to offer any response where McCall can see it, and he can see that Stiles is just barely restraining the urge to run to him. Derek thinks of Stiles preparing himself to cut off Derek’s arm. Thinks of Stiles holding him up in the pool. Thinks of Stiles crashing his jeep into Jackson when he was the kanima. Thinks of Stiles helping him search for Erica and Boyd that summer. Thinks of Stiles’ trembling hand on his shoulder. Thinks of Stiles slapping him into consciousness in the elevator and the way his hand trailed down Derek’s arm. And he thinks to himself, _finally_ he has placed his trust in the right person.

When he tells that to Stiles later in the parking lot of his apartment building, Stiles kisses him. And when Derek walks up the stairs to his apartment, he thinks about the possibility of intimacy with Stiles in the future, and for the first time in six years, the thought doesn’t drive him into a panic.

 

 

With the Wendigo dead and the initial shock of Derek’s return dulled, there is nothing to distract Scott, Stiles, and Allison from the effects of the Nemeton. Scott asks Derek to help him maintain control of his werewolf instincts. Stiles leaves texts for Derek at ungodly hours of the night, the subject matter ranging from random factoids Googled in the dead of night to frantic, nonsense strings of words and phrases. Derek doesn’t see much of Allison, but she looks like she’s been run ragged, and Isaac’s lips are constantly red from biting them in his worry. 

Sometimes Stiles will zone out in the middle of helping Cora with her schoolwork or eating dinner and Derek will have to call his name a few times to snap him out of it and get his attention. When Stiles finally looks at him, his face is pale and Derek can hear his heart racing. Derek never touches Stiles to break him out of his waking nightmares—he learned the hard way when he put his hand on Stiles’ arm during dinner and Stiles grabbed his knife and stabbed Derek in the thigh. As soon as Stiles realized what he’d done, he pulled the knife from Derek’s leg and dropped it from his shaking fingertips before he ran to the bathroom and emptied the contents of his stomach in the toilet. By the time Stiles emerged from the bathroom again, Derek’s leg had already healed, but Stiles stared at the bloodstain on Derek’s jeans, eyes dark with fear and guilt. He mumbled that he had to leave and fled from the loft before Derek or Cora could say a word.

Derek’s phone is ringing. He wants to smash it, and the urge increases when he forces his eyes open and sees that it’s half past three in the morning. His hand fumbles for his phone and he doesn’t even bother to look at who’s calling him before he answers the phone and hisses into the mouthpiece, “What do you want?”

Derek hears heavy breathing on the other end, and if the microphone on the cellular device was more sensitive, Derek is sure he would be hearing a pounding heart. “Derek, I need you to come here. Right now.” Stiles’ voice is low and rough, like he’s been yelling. Derek is immediately alert. Is something else already attacking Beacon Hills again? Did something…?

“Where’s your father?” Derek asks. “What’s happening?”

“My dad is fine. Nothing… nothing is attacking me.” There’s a dry chuckle. “Well, nothing physical.”

“Then why do you need me?”

“Just shut the fuck up and come over. Use my window.”

“Why would I use the window when you have a perfectly good door?”

“You always use my window.”

“Stiles, I’ve used it all of once, and that was when I was a fugitive.”

“Whatever. Just pretend you’re Romeo and I’m your mentally anguished Juliet.” Stiles hangs up.

With a sigh, Derek sets down his phone and drags himself out of bed. He exchanges his sweatpants for a pair of jeans and pulls on his socks and shoes before zipping into his leather jacket. He steps into the hallway and listens to Cora’s breathing; she’s awake, having heard Derek’s phone vibrating.

“I’m going to see Stiles,” Derek says softly and after a moment’s pause, in lieu of telling Cora he loves her, he adds, “Be safe.” Then Derek walks down the halls, snatching his keys from the kitchen counter, and exits the apartment, locking the door behind him. He takes a deep breath of the cold February air as he steps outside and it curls in his lungs like icy fingers. He can see his breath as he exhales, a small cloud of life exiting his body.

He takes off at a run; the Toyota isn’t an especially noisy vehicle, but Derek doesn’t want to risk it (and if he’s being honest with himself, he just really doesn’t feel like driving right now). The physical exertion coaxes warmth into his chilled limbs and Derek feels bright and aware in the sodium light of the streetlamps that dot the side of the walkway. Derek can hear cars in the distance, an insomniac’s television playing late night infomercials, nocturnal wildlife, and two lovers entwined in the privacy of their bedroom. He smells exhaust and an antique woodstove burning for warmth, decaying leaves and the faint stench of sewage beneath the streets. Derek slows down and quiets when he comes to Stiles’ suburb, walking toward that familiar house. The lights are off and it looks like, for all intents and purposes, the inhabitants are fast asleep. Derek circles round to the side of the house, dry grass crackling beneath his feet as he minds the dead garden, and climbs the oak tree next to Stiles’ window.

Derek doesn’t bother tapping on the window before he slides it open and slips inside of the teenager’s bedroom. The room smells of sweat, fear, the saline of tears, and there’s an undercurrent of bile and gastric acid beneath the minty scent of toothpaste. And through it all is Stiles own unique smell—the spice of his bodywash, the sweetness of shampoo, and that smell that’s just _him._ Stiles is laying face-down on his bed with the blankets tangled about his waist. Derek can tell from his uneven breathing pattern that he’s awake. Stiles shivers as a cool breeze blows in through the window, sending goosebumps up his bare arms. Derek closes the window behind him and leans against Stiles’ desk, absently looking through the school papers strewn across its surface. He hears Stiles’ body shift.

“Derek?” Stiles whispers.

Derek looks over at him. Stiles’ eyes are bloodshot and there are dark circles like bruises beneath them. His t-shirt clings to his skin damply. At the unspoken invitation, Derek removes his shoes, socks, jeans, and finally his jacket, hanging it over the chair. Then Derek crawls into the space next to Stiles in his bed. Stiles turns to face him, starts reaching out, and a long, relieved sigh escapes his lips when Derek’s hand finds his.

“Go to sleep, Stiles,” Derek whispers to him.

“I’m not tired,” he lies, lacing their fingers together and shifting closer so that Derek can feel the heat of his body. Stiles squeezes his fingers so hard that Derek knows they would bruise if he was human.

Softly, Derek begins to sing one of the songs Cora likes under his breath, “’ _I’m looking for a place to start, but everything feels so different now. Just grab a hold of my hand and I will lead you through this wonderland…_ ’”

Gradually, Stiles relaxes; the tension leaving his shoulders and blood returning to his white knuckles. He sighs. “Your voice isn’t bad.”

And as Stiles slowly falls back into an easier sleep, Cora’s music plays on in Derek’s head.

‘ _The light is blinding my eyes as the soft walls eat us alive._ ’

 

 

Derek never asks Stiles what his night terrors are about and Stiles will never tell him.

 

 

The breaking point comes in March. The breaking point comes when they’re sweaty and exhausted, covered in dirt and blood. Sheriff Stilinski and his son have narrowly avoided death, and Derek is standing at the edge of the woods by their house with Scott, Isaac, Allison, Cora, and the Alpha twins, catching his breath as he watches them hug each other tightly. Stiles’ bloodstained baseball bat has been discarded on the grass. Over the Sheriff’s shoulder, Stiles’ eyes meet Derek’s, and Derek nods once slowly before he disappears into the woods to take care of the Omegas’ bodies. Cora and Isaac help him with the job silently, and they don’t question it when he leaves them afterward.

As Derek walks into the Stilinskis’ now-empty yard, Stiles’ bedroom window opens and the teenager waves urgently for Derek to come over. Derek quickens his pace to an easy jog and scales the tree next to Stiles’ window to jump in. Stiles hasn’t changed or showered. They smell like earth and death and the left side of Stiles’ face is covered in blood from a scalp wound.

Stiles says, “You saved my dad.”

Derek says, “If I didn’t come, you would have kept trying to fight on your own and then you’d be dead. You love your dad.” 

“You saved me.”

Derek raises his eyebrows and says nothing, leaving a fill in the blank space of silence between them. But Stiles must know the answer, because he surges forward and his arms come up around Derek’s neck and now they’re kissing like they’ve been waiting for a lifetime. Derek wraps his arms around Stiles’ waist and they cling to each other like they haven’t just been fighting for their lives and they’re not covered in grime and filth. Their mouths fit together like a lock and key and Stiles tastes like cinnamon and blood.

When they finally draw apart, they take turns showering. The hot water feels like bliss on Derek’s body after the long night of fighting and killing. After he finishes washing himself clean, he dresses in his boxers and a borrowed t-shirt of Stiles’ and crawls into the bed. He dozes as he waits for Stiles to finish with his own shower, and before long a second weight is pressing down on the bed. Derek wraps an arm around Stiles’ waist, slipping his hand beneath the hem of Stiles’ shirt to feel the smooth skin of his back. Stiles smiles at Derek with that beautiful mouth and those amber eyes, kisses Derek softly, and then Derek kisses him again, nuzzling their foreheads together. Stiles smells clean and the wound just above his hairline has scabbed over.

Stiles chuckles to himself. “Who would have thought a year ago that I would be kissing Derek Hale in my bed?”

“I definitely wouldn’t have,” Derek says. “You were a little shit. You’re _still_ a little shit.”

“And you’re still an emotionally stunted jackass.”

They’re grinning at each other like idiots. Derek pulls Stiles closer and presses their lips together.

 

 

Peter Hale has always dwelled within the realm of moral ambiguity. On a superficial level, Derek had trusted him; he was pack and family. But Derek had always been a little unsure of what to think of him. Because Peter always had his own agenda. Derek’s mother, Talia, was his Alpha, but Peter was constantly strategizing, even when there was no threat on the horizon. Peter thrived on meticulous plans and prediction. He was always twisting and tweaking details to suit his own purposes.

When Derek was at college, he took psychology as an elective. Antisocial Personality Disorder, or psychopathy, is marked by a disregard for social norms, a near-pathological tendency to lie and manipulate, irritability, reckless behaviour, irresponsibility, a lack of remorse, and impulsivity. If it wasn’t for the impulsive factor, Derek would say that that diagnosis fits Peter to a T; but no, Peter is always thinking ahead. Derek wonders when Peter will go after Scott McCall—and of course it isn’t a question of ‘ _if’_. With Peter, it’s always ‘ _when_ ’. And when Peter does make his move, Derek will be ready.

 

 

Being with Stiles is unlike any other relationship Derek has had in his life. Sometimes they fight. Sometimes they fight until they’re almost ready to start throwing punches. Stiles never bites back his words, is never afraid to hurt Derek. They’ll yell at each other right up to the end when they’re shouting, ‘ _Why are we still fighting?!_ ’

‘ _I don’t know!_ ’

And then they usually start kissing.

But despite the catastrophic clashes of their personalities, Derek finds that being with Stiles is _easy_. On Saturdays they curl up on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and watch Quentin Tarantino movies. Occasionally Cora will join them, but for the most part she leaves them be when they watch their movies, saying that they nauseate her. Derek will recline across the couch and Stiles will lay between his legs with his back against Derek’s chest. Sometimes they’re content to simply read their own books in the living room.

Stiles is tentative in his affection, but not in the same way Paige was. Stiles is new to being in a romantic relationship, but he’s never shy. Derek doesn’t think there’s anything shy about Stiles. The caution has nothing to do with Stiles and everything to do with Derek, and yet he doesn’t feel like he’s being coddled. Stiles is almost always the one to initiate physical contact, but he always looks for cues from Derek first; studying his body language and the way he reacts to simpler touches like a hand on his arm or brushing their hands together. They always sleep in the same bed when Stiles stays over or when Derek sleeps at his house, but Stiles’ hands never wander below Derek’s waist and with the exception of shirts, no clothes ever come off. And it’s so _refreshing_. It’s so relieving to be with someone and not be expected to have sex. He knows that Stiles wants to, can smell the hormones flushing his system and feel the erection pressed against his leg when their kisses grow heated and heavy, but this is the one thing that Stiles is waiting for Derek to instigate. Derek doesn’t know when it will happen. He knows that he wants to do it with Stiles one day; press their bodies infinitely close like two asymptotes approaching the same point, bodies slick with sweat, mouths open and panting. It waits on the horizon like a destination that’s closer than it appears, and if Derek’s being honest, he’s actually looking forward to it. It will be a first for both of them: the first time Stiles has sex and the first time Derek makes love.

And he does love Stiles. Neither of them have said it, but it can be seen in the way the sun glints on Stiles’ teeth when he laughs as he throws dish soap bubbles at Derek. In the way Stiles lays his head on Derek’s chest just to hear the steady beating of his heart. The way Derek is Stiles’ safe place when he’s being plagued by the terrors of his mind. The way they scream at each other when one of them gets hurt while playing the hero. And sometimes Stiles will take Derek’s hand, grinning and saying, ‘ _Derek, come on!_ ’ and he’ll lead Derek into the woods on the preserve where they can run and chase. Derek will watch the muscles of Stiles’ shoulders shift as the teenager tugs him along deer paths and the trees seem to part before them. Cora will trail behind them and if Derek looks hard enough, he thinks he can even see Laura laughing.

‘ _She follows me into the woods, takes me home._ ’ 

**Author's Note:**

> Song references: 
> 
> Mountain Sound - Of Monsters and Men (My Head is an Animal - 2011)  
> The Bends - Radiohead (The Bends - 1995)  
> King and Lionheart - Of Monsters and Men (My Head is an Animal - 2011)  
> Yellow Light - Of Monsters and Men (My Head is an Animal - 2011)  
> Six Weeks - Of Monsters and Men (My Head is an Animal - 2011)
> 
> A playlist with most of the soundtrack can be found here: 
> 
> https://8tracks.com/comedownchampion/so-it-goes


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